


come on, jump out at me

by g_uttertrash



Series: domestic monsters [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Autumn, Domestic, Fluff, Halloween, Haunted Houses, M/M, Magic-Users, Monsters, Siren, Witches, also HEH halloween face paint, also there's totally added oops/hi because i am WEAK, because i am unstoppable when it comes to fluff, everyone is sassy and cute the end, i am saving it for a fic entirely about them so just h/l this time, i didn't want to put 'sirens' in case that's for the show(s), idk what else to put BYE, not because i don't love it but because i am ALWAYS writing it subconsciously, the fluffiest fucking fluff, this is NOT ziall i stg, um okay tags RIGHT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 12:47:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2508404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/g_uttertrash/pseuds/g_uttertrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is a witch from a long line of power, an ancient line that’s one of the strongest left alive in their hemisphere. He can cast spells without a word if need be, fly on a broomstick, and has a black cat (a kitten, really) named Felix that is his animal familiar. He can shape galaxies in his cupped hands and can destroy them just as easily.  He can choose exactly how to use his power, for encouragement and support, or for more nefarious causes if he wishes to.</p><p>And as fate would have it, he’s scared of haunted houses. </p><p>(Harry is a witch who carries around a stuffed pumpkin, Louis is a vampire with too much time on his hands, and their best mates Zayn & Niall aren't exactly what they seem...)</p>
            </blockquote>





	come on, jump out at me

**Author's Note:**

> okayyyyy first of all SORRY THIS IS A WIP and basically just an introduction but i'm going to chicago next week and won't be back until halloween so i just wanted to get something out there before i go. this is going to be an ongoing thing that i'm gonna do between now and christmas because HALLOWEEN SHOULDN'T HAVE TO END JUST BECAUSE OCTOBER DOES so keep an eye out, i guess? i'm going to work on the next one as soon as i get back from chicago :) 
> 
> this whole idea is loosely based on [this](http://moniquill.tumblr.com/post/66494076079/necrotype-domestic-monsters-the-witch) tumblr post and the title is from, of course, one direction's "something great" 
> 
> i hope you enjoy! (and are patient, i know WIPs suck, sorry)

It’s called Halloween Spooktacular Funland and the only reason Harry is _there_ is because Zayn dragged him along. “C’mon,” Zayn said, pulling on Harry’s hand as he scrambled with things on the way out the door, hands fumbling for his phone and wallet, keys and bracelets, his chunk of quartz and sprig of sage. “Stop doin’ all them weird experiments in the basement and get out of the _house_.” They weren’t _experiments_ , he huffed to Zayn, they were _spells_ , but all Zayn did was plop a witch’s hat on his head from the coat rack by the door and pull him out into the night.

And Harry is _so_ glad he did.

It’s cold, the kind that’s just a step or two below chilly, but Harry likes it on his cheeks, likes the way his nose has gone just the tiniest bit numb. His breath comes in faint puffs of air and each time he laughs, it’s like a whirlwind of frost. The witch’s hat sits pretty on his curls and he’s wearing the purple and black striped scarf that Zayn bought him the second year they were living together. Around them the air smells ripe and earthy, sweet and tangy, alive with the scents of cotton candy, fish and chips; apples and pumpkins and cinnamon; hay and the still-soft dirt beneath their feet; along with the promise of the coming winter, a chill that Harry can taste whenever he opens his mouth. Lanterns swing from poles and on ropes hung between trees, casting grinning, writhing shadows on the ground.

There is a maze far off across the field and so many carnival games that Harry isn’t sure where to begin when they first arrive, but they wind their way through, stopping every now and again. Zayn wins Harry a stuffed pumpkin and he’s so happy he can hardly contain himself, grinning like it’s a real pumpkin, and when Zayn asks if he wants one of _those_ , he almost loses his mind, smacking a kiss on Zayn’s cheek and embarrassing him in front of everyone. It’s no secret that autumn is his favorite time of the year and he’s having the time of his life.

They stop to play one of the ring-toss games and Harry wins. The prize is a koi fish in a little plastic tank with a handle and he gives it to Zayn, who immediately brings it up to his face to look at it and talk to it. Right there in the middle of the fairway, he names it Remus after his favorite Harry Potter character and kisses the plastic side of the container. To be honest, Harry cheated—he cast a spell at the last second, ensuring the appropriate number of rings were tossed into the barrel, but so what? He knows how much Zayn loves fish and he wanted to give his best mate something nice. There couldn’t be much of a karmic price for it, could there?

Unfortunately, Harry gets his answer shortly. After buying hot apple cider with sticks of cinnamon in the plastic cups, Zayn asks the worst question.

“What about the haunted house, then? Wanna give it a go?”

Harry glances at the absolutely massive lurid haunted house they’ve built in the middle of the field. It’s a huge faux-mansion strung up with woolly cobwebs and there are corpses everywhere, rubbery bodies bright with blood and skeletons hanging from the fake silhouettes of trees in front of it.  The line is practically half a mile long and Harry has no desire to go in there. Zayn ought to know this by now, after their many years of friendship.

Harry is a witch from a long line of power, an ancient line that’s one of the strongest left alive in their hemisphere. He can cast spells without a word if need be, fly on a broomstick, and has a black cat (a kitten, really) named Felix that is his animal familiar. He can’t turn people into toads, but he can make them croak if he wants. He can shape galaxies in his cupped hands and can destroy them just as easily.  He can choose exactly how to use his power, for encouragement and support, or for more nefarious causes if he wishes to.

And as fate would have it, he’s scared of haunted houses.

* * *

Once, Liam asked Louis if he ever gets tired of doing the same shit over and over again. No, he said, without any hesitation. How could he ever get tired when his job is this much damn _fun_?

They get five minutes in between walkthroughs for anything they might need: Loo breaks, touch-ups, a drink. A particular shriek goes off through the speakers, the lights go up for just those five minutes, and Louis gets to crawl out of his coffin.

Niall is already there when he clambers down, getting dust and spray paint on the knees of his skinny jeans. He’s wearing a werewolf mask, his hands and arms sticky with fake blood. It makes Louis hungry just looking at it; it’s been forever since he’s had a bite to eat.

“Your makeup’s smudged,” Niall says, his voice muffled from inside the mask. He pushes it up so it sits on the top of his head and grins sunnily at Louis. “Want me to do it?”

Louis nods. One of the zombie brides, Lou, did his hair and makeup earlier but she’s across the length of the haunted house and he’s not sure if he could make it to her and back in time.

Every year, Louis and Niall make the pilgrimage out to the country from London in the fall to do this. It’s their tradition, ever since they met at the first one back in the...well, a long time ago. One could say they have…particular talents that make them the best fits for the job out of everyone there, even if they _do_ occasionally need makeup and some effects to pull off the spooky look that's become the norm nowadays. 

When Louis was born, the world was different. Back then, everyone would hurry to their homes around this time of year. The veil between worlds—that is, theirs and the realm where spirits and demons dwelled—was thinnest, allowing the ghoulies and ghosties to pass through and haunt them. There were even stories of people being kidnapped and taken to those other worlds. Sometimes they came back, sometimes they didn’t. It was a time of genuine fear that one of those people might be you, and so the populace was wary. Bonfires were burned, graves were festooned, and blood was smeared on door frames to keep away the demons. Back then, they called it Samhain, and then over time, with the birth of Christendom, became All Hallows' Eve. Now, however, it was just Halloween, a combination of the two predecessors. Now, it was celebrated and glorified, children roaming the streets and lines of people stretching from their haunted house. Corporations made money on cheap costumes, decorations, and candy.

Louis? He loves it. He loves every misinformed, capitalist moment of it. It reminds him of home, in those first few centuries of his life, when the only comfort he found was in masks and monsters.

Not only is it the easiest, most natural and fun job in the world, but it’s the fastest. They both work for two weeks until November first and then they’re good for the rest of the year. Niall, of course, has his real job at a restaurant back in London as a sous chef, but Louis himself is…independently wealthy, he supposes, so there’s no real need for one. He takes part-time gigs every now and again just to have something to do, but it’s a bit of a hassle to work around his aversion to sunlight.

It’s just not easy being a very, _very_  old vampire in modern England.

But some of the perks are, in fact, quite nice. Not needing to apply fake teeth for the haunted house, for instance.

“There,” Niall says, wiping his grease-paint fingers on a paper towel, folding it up and shoving it into his pocket. “Looks great. Dark eyes, cheekbones, and a widow’s peak.”

Louis raises a hand to touch his forehead. “You _didn’t!_ ”

Niall cackles. “’Course not, mate, I’m just fucking with you.”

“Bela Lugosi,” Louis mutters, rolling his eyes. He loves Halloween, he does, but that ideal is just the one thing he can't stand. He snorts, opening his mouth to rant, but Niall cuts him off, waving a hand nonchalantly.

“Yeah, yeah, heard it before. Now get back in your coffin, ya corpse.”

Louis throws up his middle finger before extending a hand, silently asking for Niall’s help back into the coffin. It’s really too large to be an _actual_ coffin, but it’s the spooky design that has evolved over the years in horror movies, so why not? Louis is no stranger to camp, being best friends with Niall, and he’s actually a bit of a fan. At least that aspect of modern vampires is _fun_. Some of the other stuff…yuck.

 Niall rolls his eyes but helps Louis back up into the coffin and pats his hand. “Remember, be scary.”

“Sometimes it’s not easy for all of us. Sometimes we’re just too attractive.”

“You wish.”

“Hardly. Don’t be envious, Niall, it’s not cute.”

“Nobody says envious anymore, old man.”

Louis is on the verge of leaping out of his coffin to rugby tackle Niall when the lights go down again and it’s back to work. Louis crosses his arms over his chest as though he is actually a corpse and closes his eyes, pretending to be dead. Well, more dead than he already is. There’s a shifting in the roof of his mouth, his canines extending just the slightest bit from their sheath.

They poke his bottom lip when he grins.

* * *

Zayn has to promise to buy him _two_ pumpkins before Harry consents to standing in line and entering the haunted house. He clutches his stuffed pumpkin the entire time, shifting his weight from foot to foot, biting his lip and nervously bopping his head to the spooky Halloween music (some dubstep remix of Bach’s _Toccata and Fugue in D Minor_ in the hopes of being “hip”) while they wait. Without even looking over, Zayn reaches and puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.

“You’ll be fine, Haz.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Zayn shifts closer, speaking out of the corner of his mouth. “Wanna do a calming spell?”

Harry shakes his head. “Nah. It feels like cheating, y’know? It’s nearly Halloween, I should face my fears.”

Zayn beams. “That’s the attitude, mate. Need me to hold your hand just in case?”

Harry thinks on it for a moment, tapping his chin, before he shrugs. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

“All right. I’m here if you need me. You’ll be fine.”

The line moves slowly with Harry singing along quietly to “Bela Lugosi’s Dead” while Zayn talks to his koi, making fish faces through the plastic tank. If Harry finds that fish in the one working bathtub in their house the next morning, he’s not going to be pleased, especially since he’s told Zayn that as much as he loves his fish friends, they need to be in a _proper_ tank, not the only place available for bathing. 

When they’re finally on the steps of the house, Harry’s heart starts hammering. He’s not sure _why_ he’s so scared of haunted houses. He shouldn’t be; he’s a witch! And yet, there’s something about them, something that makes Harry feel _trapped_. The walls are always so close together, giving him a claustrophobic feeling, not to mention the heavy oppressiveness he feels in the magical part of him as well, a sense of dread and lingering spirits. He knows it isn’t real, but he can still feel things lurking around behind him, just out of the corner of his eye.

They pay the five pound fee to get in and then they’re crowded with another couple in the foyer. The music from outside has faded to eerie wailing and gusts of screeching wind. Harry inches closer to Zayn subconsciously and he can _feel_ Zayn holding in his laughter. This is not the first time they've been through this. At least he’s trying, though. Harry closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to remind himself that it isn’t real. Zombies and vampires and werewolves are just _stories_. There’s no actual facts to them…

But then again, some might say the same about witches.

The living room of the house is filled with spectral portraits and a screaming head inside the fireplace, its eyes lighting up with fire, and it only has Harry’s heart skipping a beat for a second before it goes dark again. They walk through to the hallway where bloody rags are hanging from the ceiling and a strobe light is flickering. Harry _does_ cast a spell here, but only so his footsteps are sure as he closes his eyes to wild whirling of the lights. Zayn is actually the one to take his hand, just for a moment, when a clown with pointed teeth and a bloody knife jumps out of them, laughing maniacally.

Harry doesn’t open his eyes until they’re out of the hallway and in the next room. On a bed is a fake body of a man who’s been ripped into pieces; there are two zombie brides in the room, their bodies motionless, torn white dresses hanging off of them and their hair tangled around their faces. The room here is lit with a sinister red light that flickers into darkness every few seconds and Harry can feel his heartbeat jump into his throat. As they pass through, the zombie women snarl and grab at them, but they don’t pursue.

The next room is a bathroom strewn with fake rats and bugs, and there’s a charred corpse in the bathtub with a toaster. Someone bangs on the mirror from the other side of it and the couple with them screams and clutches each other. “Glad we’re not that bad, eh?” Zayn says, laughing quietly.

After that, there’s a kitchen filled to the _top_ with fake blood and fake human limbs, including some stuffed into what looks like a meat grinder. A man wearing a mask of human skin and a leather apron is chopping up what looks to Harry like real meat with a rusty cleaver, and when they’re all in the middle of the room, he turns and roars at them, hoisting the cleaver high. They all shout and scream that time, running and pushing for the door into the next room, Harry’s breath constricting in his throat. He’s squeezing his stuffed pumpkin so hard that he’s almost sure he’ll leave a permanent mark.

“So much for not being that bad,” he says and Zayn makes a face.

The next room is a pitch-black basement, the speakers playing a track of rattling chains and distant screams. This time, Harry grabs for Zayn’s hand, his eyes straining against the blackness. His mouth goes dry and he knows his hand is sweaty, but he can’t help himself, he feels like the walls are closing in on him and like he’s falling down the rabbit hole with nothing on either side of him, just darkness and a thick, cloying fear.

Harry feels something cross his foot and he sucks in a breath, clutching at Zayn.

“’S all right, I’m here,” Zayn says, squeezing his hand. “I’ve got you.”

When they’re about halfway towards the other side of the room (Harry thinks?), there is a bone-chilling scream and blue lights flash to life as ghosts pop up from panels in the floor, several corpses hanging from ropes drop from beams in the ceiling, and a fog machine spits liberal amounts of grey mist into the room, curling around their feet in clouds. Harry shrieks and clings to Zayn, squeezing his eyes as Zayn yanks him from the room. He almost drops his stuffed pumpkin and screams again.

The lights illuminate stairs across the room and they run up them, the second couple behind them, each of them breathing hard and talking wildly. Harry’s glad they’re at least in equally-scareable company. Nothing is less fun that going to a haunted house with a couple of stoic know-it-alls who are just going to laugh at anyone who is scared by the “terrible effects.”

This newest door opens to a narrow room that seems to be some kind of parlor or sitting room with a large window taking up almost an entire wall, the tattered curtains pulled back to expose a glowing full moon painted onto the glass, dark clouds hovering over skeletal trees. Over the speakers that are cleverly hidden throughout the room are the sounds of howls in the distance, of growls and heavy breathing. Harry hasn’t let go of Zayn and he’s practically standing on his shoes as they make their way to the center of the room, standing on a threadbare carpet. The furniture is overturned in the room, deep gouges struck into the fabric and the walls, wallpaper hanging in shreds.

Claw marks. A chill runs down Harry’s spine.

It seems to be the last room, as there’s a glowing sign over the door across the room that says EXIT. They creep towards it, the couple behind them talking in heightened whispers. “Oh my god oh my god oh my god,” the girl behind them says. “Oh god, what now, what now?”

There’s another howl, but it’s much louder, so much closer. Harry stops breathing for a moment. Somewhere in the house—or maybe it’s on the speakers?—a grandfather clock chimes. “That’s just the music, right?” Harry whispers. “The howling?”

As if in answer, there’s a snarl from their left. Harry turns his head and standing there is a werewolf, its clawed hands raised, covered in fake fur, long nails glistening in the faux-moonlight. Its face is hideous, its mouth wide open and lips pulled back to show long, blood-stained teeth. It snarls again and the girl behind them screams so loudly that Harry’s ears ring. The werewolf throws back its head and howls again, the sound mingling with the girl’s screams, and her boyfriend joins her as the werewolf lunges towards them. Zayn clutches his fish to his chest as they jump out of the way, Harry yelling at the top of his lungs. They make it to the last door, or at least, so they think, but it leads to one last final hallway.

With the werewolf right on their heels, they slam the door shut, the other couple breathing hard with them. It feels like they’re in an actual horror movie, being chased by nameless villains and terrors, and Harry’s breathless and dizzy, heart pounding a panicked beat in his chest for his body to dance to.

Luckily, there’s nothing in this hallway except for a coffin with one of those fake corpses laying in it that looks vaguely vampiric, so Harry starts to breathe a little easier. All they have to do is walk a few more feet and then they’re out into the night air and _free_. This is going to be fine.

The other couple goes ahead of them, shaking their heads and talking about how frightened they are, their arms around each other’s waists. “You okay?” Zayn asks.

Harry nods. “You? And Remus?” He bends down to tie the laces of his boots; they’ve come undone in all the frightened hurrying about.

Zayn checks on his koi to make sure he hasn't been too sloshed around. “We’re good. No worries.”

Harry stands and he’s ready to go. He’s excited now, his pace quickening, and he walks ahead of Zayn. He can’t _wait_ to be out of here, he wants a nice autumn beer and some flatbread and those pumpkins Zayn promised him before they drive back home, and all of _that_ lies outside.

Harry is nearly there, about to cross that last bit of distance, when there’s movement in the corner of his eye at his left. “ _Rah_ ,” the corpse says, shouting loudly, its hands outstretched to grab Harry’s arm as it jumps out of the coffin and lands on the ground beside Harry.

He lets out the most terrified squeak, his entire brain going white and numb with fright. He does two things in a short amount of time, two things he’s entirely _not_ proud of. First, he hits the person with his stuffed pumpkin, as though it’s a weapon he can actually use to protect himself. Secondly, he physically reacts, leaping up into the air like a cat that’s been startled, and somehow ends up in the arms of the very real person who has just jumped out at him, the same person he’s hit with a stuffed _toy_.

“Oh my god,” Harry breathes, his entire body trembling, his heart racing. His voice shakes when he says, “I’m so sorry, I—” He can’t even form a proper sentence, he’s so scared. He looks down, realizing only one of his legs is on the ground, the other is embarrassingly high on this stranger’s hip, his arms around his neck. _Oops_.

“Hi,” the person says, grinning widely. He’s shorter than Harry by a few inches, with a mess of brown hair sticking up wildly, and a load of black and white grease paint makeup on his face. His fake vampire teeth are _fab_ , Harry notices somehow in his heightened state of anxiety, and the rest of him is just as sharp and perky and cute. “Did you just hit me with a stuffed pumpkin?”

Harry nods weakly.

If anything, the stranger’s grin broadens. “Scared you a bit, yeah?”

His Yorkshire accent is absolutely delicious, and Harry wants to wrap himself up in it. Slowly, he pulls himself away from him, though he can’t keep his gaze from those blue eyes and that cheeky grin. The stranger drops from his sight for a moment, reappearing a second later holding the stuffed pumpkin.

“Well, here you go.” Harry silently takes the pumpkin bag, clutching it to his chest again. The stranger goes on. “I promise not to hold it against you. I think I’m…” He looks down, patting himself. “Yeah, I’m not hurt, actually. Nice try, though.”

“I… Um, I…”

“Louis,” the stranger says. “I am, that is. And you?”

“Uh. Harry?” Harry’s head is spinning and he has no concept of time or space. _Who is he, again?_

“It’s not a guessing game, love.” His eyes flick past to Zayn. “Hi, you are—”

“Zayn. This here _is_ Harry and er, usually he knows it, too. Dunno what’s his problem.” Zayn stands beside them, peering at Harry with concern. “I think you scared his brains away, mate.”

Louis laughs and something shatters over Harry’s head, some clarity or realization. It’s like a musical call, an awakening, and Harry blinks, offering a hand to shake. “Louis. Right. Nice to meet you.”

“And you.” Louis takes his hand, but instead of shaking it, he bows slightly and the waist, curls his fingers around Harry’s, and brings his hand up to his mouth, brushing his lips over the back of it. “Pleasure.”

A chill races down Harry’s spine and he visibly shivers. Zayn looks back and forth between them, his expression incredulous, almost as wonderstruck as Harry feels. Who _is_ this person?

“Well, don’t let me keep you.” Slowly, he lowers Harry’s hand but he doesn't let go of it, not yet. He leans close, whispering conspiratorially, “We can’t start the next walkthrough until you’re out.” His eyes glimmer playfully.

“Oh! Right, yeah, of course.” Harry glances at Zayn, heat warming his cheeks. “We should probably go.”

Zayn nods but he looks down at their hands, still entwined. He sounds amused when he says, “I’ll be outside with Remus.”

Louis frowns. “Who’s Remus?” he asks as Zayn walks away.

“His fish. I won him in a game.”

“Ah, of course.” He grins knowingly like it was obvious all along and Harry’s eyes are drawn to his teeth, the lengthened canines poking out, gently resting against his bottom lip. He has to commend the Halloween business; their effects are getting more realistic by the year.

“You make a very convincing vampire.”

“Do I?” Louis points to his face. “This is all makeup. Vampires look nothing like this.”

“Still. It’s a good look.”

Louis beams. “Thank you, I’ll pass your compliments along.” He points to the other door. “The werewolf in the other room did it.”

Harry feels a bit like his head is about to explode. “Oh? Talented, is he?” 

“He’ll do in a pinch. Werewolves, you know. They’re _wild_.”

Harry laughs, probably a little too loudly, and Louis grins so broadly that his eyes crinkle, and he doesn’t look frightening at all, more mischievous and cute and sexy all at once now. Harry knows it’s probably foolish, that he doesn’t even know him and they’ve just met and one of them is dressed as an undead myth, and _YET_. He’d be lying if he said witches weren’t cursed with longing hearts, falling quickly and unrepentantly. Something about the magic within them makes them vulnerable to charms and affections, what some call a weakness of the heart. But not Harry. He thinks it's was all very romantic. And, after all, witches love for life. It's no wonder so many had been killed during colonial times; it wasn’t about religion, it was about the very real fear of being too free with one’s emotions. Passion was poison for Puritans.

Harry can’t help thinking, even if he wasn’t a witch, he’d still be enchanted. There’s just something about Louis—maybe it’s the vibrant silver of his aura glittering in the dark, or the way he’s looking at Harry, like he’s just seen a unicorn or something equally magical and rare.

“You have a lot of experience with werewolves?”

“Just the one—and he’s enough, trust me.” Finally, slowly, he lets go of Harry’s hand. “Anyway, you should probably catch up with your lovely friend. I wouldn’t want to…mess up your night.”

Harry laughs. “Not possible. I met you, didn’t I?” _Did that really just come out of my mouth? Oh my stars I have all this power and still can’t stop myself from looking like an idiot, I swear I’m—_

“You’re cute.” Louis reaches over and touches one of Harry’s curls, as though he can’t quite stop himself. He stares at his hand in wonder. “Maybe I’ll see you later?”

“Yes!” Harry says eagerly. “Um. I mean. Yeah, you might. Hopefully.”

“Wonderful.” Louis steps back, smiling. “Have fun.”

“Fun?”

“At the carnival.” He climbs back up into his coffin, looking down at Harry. “It’s almost Halloween, you know?”

“Yeah. Hey, uh, Louis? If I don’t see you again—” Harry’s heart pangs at the words, “—Happy Halloween.”

Louis’ smile widens. “Happy Halloween to you, too.”

It isn’t until Zayn grabs his arm when they’re walking away outside the side entrance of the haunted house that he realizes he’s floating, like on an actual multi-colored cloud and everything. “Harry, if someone sees—” Zayn says out of the corner of his mouth.

Harry doesn’t even care, but for Zayn’s sake, he vanishes it, slowly dropping back down to the ground. “There. Happy?”

“Brilliant, yeah.” He frowns, looking at Harry, reaching to turn his face towards the light of an overhanging lantern between two apple trees. “There’s white paint in your hair.”

“Is there?” He doesn’t mind. Everything’s _lovely_. “Wow,” he says, sighing dreamily. All the lanterns are brighter as they walk past, and the apples smell sweeter, their fragrance carrying on the breeze. “Remind me to conjure you some flowers.”

“Oh? What for?”

Harry winds his arm through Zayn’s and they walk like that side by side. “For making me leave the house tonight.”

* * *

For the next two hours, it’s all Louis can do to focus on the job and forget about that absolutely darling boy dressed as a witch. Even then, it’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, and he’s been alive for _centuries_. When Niall finally comes to get him, his mask and fake claws off, Louis is already waiting by the side door impatiently.

“Let’s go,” he says, yanking Niall outside by the arm.

“Oi, what’s the rush, mate?”

“I met someone. I have to find him.”

“You _met_ someone? How did you meet someone since the last time I saw you and in a haunted house, no less?” Niall looks at Louis with wide blue eyes. “Was it that really fit lad, the one who looked like he should be in adverts?”

“No, but he did look good, didn’t he?” Louis shakes his head. “It was his friend.”

“The one in the witch’s hat?” Niall wrinkles his nose. “He was cute, I’ll give him that, but really?”

“Niall, I’ve been alive since the tenth century. Do you _really_ think that I don’t know what constitutes as beautiful by now—and for that matter, who?”

“Beauty’s objective,” Niall says primly.

“Too bad intelligence isn’t,” Louis says with a grin and Niall launches himself at him. They go down, rolling around in the grass, laughing and swinging at each other, until the dew off the grass starts to soak into Niall’s clothes and he yelps like a pitiful puppy. Louis lets him up and Niall stands there, grass in his spiky blond hair, shivering with his arms wrapped around himself.

“Could go for some of that cider.”

“You and me both.” When Niall just looks at him, Louis shrugs. “What? Vampires can get cold, too.”

“Well, c’mere.” Niall opens an arm for Louis to curl into; his body is like a walking furnace, giving off heat in the neighborhood of at least ten degrees higher than the average human. “Perks of bein’ a werewolf.”

They hunt down the cider vendor and Louis buys them both a cup. Niall ruminates on whether or not it would taste any good mixed with a pint when Louis hears a shout from behind them. He turns.

He sees a familiar couple struggling a few yards away, beneath one of the lanterns in the soft halo of light. The carnival is closing now, people winding their way back across the fields towards the road where they’d parked their cars, or down the lanes to the tiny cottages in the surrounding village. Louis and Niall have a long drive back to London, one that Louis will probably end up making because Niall is a certified maniac, especially behind the wheel. 

It’s Harry and Zayn, the two guys from before. Harry, it seems, is trying to carry not only a stuffed pumpkin, but also two real ones and is having trouble. Zayn is trying to help, but he’s laughing so hard that he’s not doing much to improve the situation. Harry is stacking the pumpkins, the bigger one on the ground, smaller one in the middle, and stuffed one on top but every time he bends to pick them up, something goes wrong, a pumpkin rolling away or falling out of the sequence.

Louis doesn’t even realize he’s smiling until Niall elbows him, hard. “Gay,” he says, smirking over the rim of his cup.

“Werewolf.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Hm? Oh. I thought we were stating the obvious.”

Niall rolls his eyes. “A thousand years you’ve been alive and you’re still an arse.”

“It’s one thousand and forty-seven, darling, and if I _ever_ change, do us all a favor and shove a stake through me.”

Niall laughs. “I’ll be the first in line.” He nods his head in the direction of Harry, who is now trying to hold the two pumpkins side by side in his arms with the stuffed pumpkin balanced on top of them yet again. To say it isn’t working is an understatement.

“So?” Niall asks. “You gonna go over there and make a move, or what?”

“Shut up,” Louis grumbles, but he grins. “But yeah, actually, I am. Wanna hang around, or you wanna meet his fit friend?”

“I’m game if you are.”

“Always, Nialler. Always.”

They walk over, Louis still sticking close to Niall for some more of his body heat. It just figures that on one of the chilliest nights of the festival, he’s forgotten his jacket. So typical. There are just some things that a thousand years can’t teach you.

“Halloween Harry,” Louis says by way of introduction. “See you got out of the haunted house okay. Didn’t scare you too badly?”

Harry turns and drops all of his pumpkins, his mouth dropping open. Zayn slaps a palm against his forehead, shaking his head, breathless with laughter.

“Or, maybe I just did.” Louis quickly reaches up, surreptitiously touching his teeth to make sure his canines are hidden. “Sorry about that. I’ve always been a bit sneaky.”

“Sneaky, yeah,” Niall says. “Subtle? Not so much.” He grins at Zayn and Harry. “Hi, I’m Niall Horan, Louis’ best mate. I was the werewolf.” When Zayn and Harry just look at him, he clarifies. “In the haunted house. Y’know?” He holds up one hand, baring his teeth and growling.

Harry laughs and Louis’ heart feels ready to burst in his chest. Harry is the most precious person he’s ever seen, and that’s saying something, considering how long he’s been…well, alive wouldn’t quite be the right word, but it’s been over a thousand years and he’s seen his fair share of beauty. His full lips are the prettiest pink and his eyes are a soft green. Brown curls tumble down to his shoulders beneath his witch hat, and he’s tall and wiry, a black and purple striped scarf circling his neck several times and hanging over his chest. 

His laugh sounds like magic, like the rustling of leaves and chimes in the wind, like a star falling. He’s not sure what it is, but there’s something about Harry. Something…enchanting. He can’t stop staring, utterly spellbound.

“Cool,” Zayn says by way of greeting and shakes Niall’s hand. He jerks his thumb in the direction of the road. “We were just on our way out. Someone just _had_ to have his pumpkins first.”

“Well, of course,” Louis says as Harry opens his mouth to protest. “Pumpkins are a very important facet of Halloween.”

Harry beams. “That’s what I was saying!”

“Well, how about this: You carry one, Zayn carries another, and I’ll carry the last one!” When Zayn shoots him a suspicious look, Louis quickly backtracks. “If that’s all right.”

“Oi, what about me?” Niall asks.

“You can be the plucky comic relief.”

He shrugs without any hesitation, nodding. “All right, I can accept that.”

Louis looks to Zayn. It’s quite clear that they’ve been friends a long time, and Louis knows he’s going to have to tread a bit carefully with him. If this was five hundred years earlier, Louis might have just killed him—but with advances in technology and criminal sciences, there was no way he would get away with that now. Besides, he’d hate to kill who is clearly Harry’s best mate, especially with him as good-looking as all that. 

“So?” he asks. “Want some help, or not?”

Zayn thinks about it for a moment before nodding. He smiles slowly. “Sure, why not?” He rolls his eyes in Harry’s direction. “Saves me having to deal with this nutter on my own.”

“Hey,” Harry protests but Zayn's grin just widens and he bends, picking up the stuffed pumpkin.

Louis does the same, handing the smaller one to Harry, and taking the bigger one himself. Niall talks the entire way out to the road where Zayn’s car is parked, and Louis’ grateful; it bridges the gap between all of them and has them all laughing, together. Some of the awkwardness of a first meeting is washed away and by the time Zayn’s unlocking the car, a dark blue Mustang, it feels almost like they’re old friends who’ve met again after a long time apart.

They pack the pumpkins in the backseat (Harry seatbelts them in like they’re children), Remus in the seat up front, and then they stand there in the light of Zayn’s overheads in the car, the backdoors still open, just talking. Louis’ not even sure what they talk about, it’s all just Halloween plans and _oh, have you ever been to this place before?_ and what the drive home is going to be like. They flit from one thought to the next with ease, like hummingbirds between flowers, and Louis can’t help but take a step back and look around.

A chill goes down Louis’ spine. He remembers a century he spent in India, on the run from religious fanatics who had guessed at his true nature and intended to stake him. Or maybe it was burn him _at_ the stake. Either way, he wasn’t particularly interested, so he went as far away from them as he could get. While he was there, he had an awful lot of time on his hands for contemplation, and he’d turned to religion. Hinduism, he’d learned, is the oldest religion on earth, and one of its most prominent beliefs is that of reincarnation, that the soul lives on and on through many lives until it achieves perfect, true happiness.

Maybe it’s the way Harry looks just like someone he knew during the 17th century. Maybe it’s the fact that he met Niall during the 19th century and nearly killed him. Maybe it’s the way Zayn’s eyes trail over him, an oldness in them that would be invisible to anyone else, anyone who wasn’t _something_ else. Maybe it’s the way that he’s been feeling his age lately and now, right here in this very moment, is the first time in _such_ a long time that he’s felt anything resembling serenity, a peace that goes all the way through him to the insides of his bones, to whatever scraps are left of his soul.

Whatever it is, in that moment, Louis believes more fiercely than he ever has before that they—all four of them—were meant to meet. He can taste it when he opens his mouth to draw in a shuddering breath, can taste it on the breeze, in the very warmth of their skin in close proximity to his. He can feel it in the way that he’s no longer cold. He can _sense_ it—there’s something different about all of them, some magic, something old and ancient and _real_ clinging to all of them, and it forms a bond between them in ways he never thought were possible, not in all his years, his decades, his centuries.

They were meant to meet here, they were meant to be friends, and he has a feeling that now, nothing will ever be the same.

“Hey,” Niall says, punching his arm. “What’re you grinnin’ about, you smug bastard?”

“Am I?” Louis looks around at the four of them. “Nothing. I’m just glad we met this lot.”

Zayn and Harry smile, each of them differently: Zayn’s is shy and sweet, Harry’s wide and gleaming in the semi-dark.

“Can we get your numbers, then?” Niall asks and Louis wants to kiss him for taking the initiative. “You’ll have to come up to the Big Smoke and see us sometime, yeah?”

“I have a feeling you’ll be seeing us very soon,” Harry says mysteriously and Louis slides a glance in his direction.

After they’ve all exchanged numbers, Zayn hugs both of them goodbye quickly and Louis feels peculiar afterwards, his entire body tingling for a solid minute, his ears ringing. He looks at Zayn strangely, but he just winks at him and climbs into the driver’s seat. He has a feeling that Zayn is not altogether who he seems to be. 

“Gimme a sec, will you, Ni?”

Niall rolls his eyes but he grins and nods, traipsing off in the direction of their rental, parked somewhere down the lane.

Louis turns to Harry, but before he can say anything, Harry says, “You know, I knew I was going to meet you tonight.”

Louis cocks his head. “Oh? How’s that?”

“I had a dream about you.”

“About me?”

Harry nods. “It was over the summer, but then I had it again two weeks ago. I think that’s why I came out tonight with Zayn. I wasn’t going to, see, but he made me.”

“Uh-huh. And uh,” Louis steps closer to Harry, his hands in his pockets, “what were we _doing_ in this dream of yours?”

Harry frowns slightly, as though he's confused. “Blowing bubbles.”

“Blowing bubbles?”

He nods. “We were in a house. I was blowing bubbles and you were catching them in your hands. They popped and you…you laughed.” Louis smiles and Harry nods again. “Yeah, you looked just like that.” Some fondness comes over him, warmth melting his smile and the glimmer in his green eyes despite the chill. “Did you know your eyes crinkle when you smile?”

Louis doesn’t answer, at least, not with words. He crosses the little bit of distance between them, pushes up on his tiptoes and presses his lips to Harry’s. Harry makes a tiny little noise of surprise but then he’s cupping Louis’ jaw and kissing him back, his lips parting for Louis. His lips are impossibly soft, his breath warm on Louis’ face. Harry is sweet, all apples and cinnamon, and the taste goes straight to Louis’ head in a way no one else has. He can feel Harry’s blood threading through his veins under his skin, can hear the wild-rabbit-running of Harry’s heart, and it surges through him in a hot, dizzying rush; he presses his body against Harry, presses him against the side of the car, tangling his fingers in those curls, grabbing a hold of his scarf.

The witch’s hat on Harry’s head goes tumbling off, falling to the dirt below with a soft scraping sound.

They part at the noise, breathing shakily. Harry’s eyes don’t open immediately, but when they do, he looks as though someone’s hit him around the head with something very solid. His eyes are dazed, his lips parted and shiny.

“Um.”

Louis nods. “Yeah, sorry, I just...couldn't help myself. Been wanting to do that since I saw you, to be honest." 

“Right. I…” Harry shakes his head; Louis realizes then that one of his hands is still locked in Harry’s hair, the curls thick and lush around his fingers. Slowly, he begins to let go. His other hand has made marks in Harry’s coat. “I should go.”

“Yeah.” Louis’ having a hard time saying anything else.

It should be insane. But, then again, Louis lived through the Crusades and Christopher Columbus’ so-called “discovery”, so he’s seen worse. He knows insane—he was alive in the 1940s, after all—and this doesn’t quite come close. In terms of everything Louis has seen and done and experienced, this is actually quite tame. Still. Part of him wishes he could resurrect his dearly-departed dead parents in their lost graves. They would be deliciously _horrified_ at this latest development. 

He smiles. “It was nice to meet you, Harry.”

“You, too.”

Louis backs up and picks up Harry’s hat. He gently places it back on Harry’s head, unable to resist touching his jaw just one last time. “Call me, yeah?”

“Like I said,” Harry says, a slow smile blooming on his petal lips. “I have a feeling we’re going to see each other very soon.”

“Are your feelings ever wrong?”

Harry’s eyes gleam when he says, “Never.”

Louis watches Zayn and Harry drive away into the night, hands in the pockets of his jeans. Across the fields, the leaves on every tree are turning a deep, dark red. The lanterns still swinging around the carnival have all gone from yellow to pink, and from across the countryside, a warm wind begins to blow, flowers growing in its wake, though they shouldn’t, because it’s autumn. Nature, it seems, hasn’t gotten the memo.

Louis looks up at the sky in time to see a shower of falling stars. He smiles.

Like _he_ said. Nothing is ever going to be the same.

**Author's Note:**

> cool cool cool so this will be my "domestic monsters" series, i hope you like the next installment (whenever i finish it ;~;)
> 
> also, as always, i encourage everyone to read up on the history of halloween and its customs (as a great/grandchild of irish and scottish immigrants, it's fun to learn about!)
> 
> also pt 2: there is no actual GOOD dubstep version of bach's toccata and fugue in d minor. i looked.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [no tomorrow without a yesterday](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11401068) by [nightwideopen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightwideopen/pseuds/nightwideopen)




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